


Struggle (against the silence)

by jargonelle



Category: Harper's Island
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jargonelle/pseuds/jargonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Henry tells Abby that Jimmy signed a confession and shot himself outside the church. </p><p>"No one's coming to disturb us and there's no way for either of us off the island. It's what you always wanted, right?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struggle (against the silence)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obsessivemuch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivemuch/gifts).



> Thanks to M for the beta and thank you to Sarafu for the awesome prompt!

When Abby was a little girl, she used to play hide and seek.

It was always more fun, of course, when Henry was there, and the two of them could hide away together in the woods and whisper stories to each other while JD or Nikki stomped around the island calling their names. They never minded when the game was over and they still had not been found, the others having given up long before Abby was scolded for being late home for dinner.

It never lasted as long when it was just the two of them.

Now as Abby took her first step outside, Henry was there to lead her, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. She stumbled two or three times, didn't see the point of navigating her own course with Henry fiercely guiding her, but the breeze and the feel of the sun unfiltered by glass were nice though. He sat her down by the marina and they stared out at the water. Abby saw nothing. She didn't know what Henry saw, or why he had bothered bringing her at all.

When they arrived back at the house, Abby took off her shoes and her jacket without either of them saying a word. She went upstairs to her room and curled up on her bed, facing the wall. Henry followed her shortly afterward and sat down beside her. He stroked her hair over and over, from the crown of her head, to her nape, to her shoulder, mechanically tracing the same path each time. She froze, too tense to close her eyes.

"Today was good, huh, Abby? It was reassuring… no boats there means that no one's coming to disturb us and that there's no way for either of us off the island. It's what you always wanted, right?"

It wasn't, but she was too tired to argue. She was always too tired to argue.

"I brought you dinner, I know you don't like to eat downstairs. And…"

The stroking finally stopped.

"I'm worried about you, Abby. You should be happier. We should be happier. I hate seeing you like this. So I got you some stuff, so you can do your writing like you used to, like when you carried that journal around with you for the whole summer. I promise I won't look at it, if you don't want me to. I'd give you a pen, but er…" He laughed. "We can work up to that when you're feeling yourself again. Don't need any more accidents."

He kissed her forehead, awkwardly, and then stood up. "Come down whenever you're ready."

She heard him leave the room and close the door behind him without locking it.

It took her a few minutes to work up the energy to roll over and sit up. There was a notebook on the bedside table, purple with a hard cover, and four crayons, black, red, green and blue. Abby concentrated on the bottle of the water, the sandwich and the apple beside it. The water tasted stale, as did the bread, so she managed a few bites of the apple before giving in.

The paper was crisp and clean, and it smelled like home the way nothing else on the island did.

The black crayon felt thick between her fingers, but in shaky letters she managed to write: "My name is Abby Mills, and I'm being held prisoner, here on Harper's Island." She almost laughed. It looked a little like the articles she wrote for magazines, 'based on true stories' but with all the details changed. She wondered if anyone in LA was even worried about her yet.

"A lot of people have been murdered here, good people."

She made a list, started with the Wellingtons, Trish, and her father, Richard, and Katherine. She didn't know if Henry had told the truth about Shea and Madison's escape so she wrote their names too, followed by "I hope you're safe."

Trish's friends were next. Chloe and Cal. Beth. The other bridesmaid, she recalled, had gone missing and no one believed she'd actually made it home. Abby described her as best as she could and left a space in case she could remember the girl's name later.

Then the men Henry had pretended to care about. JD, and his Uncle Marty. Danny. Sully. Malcolm. Possibly Booth.

The locals were the hardest, the people she'd grown up with, for better or worse. Reverend Fain, Maggie, Shane, Kelly. Nikki. God, she couldn't believe Nikki was dead.

Her Mom. Her Dad.

Jimmy.

She'd escaped from the house, once, found her way to the garage next door where there were ropes and candy wrappers and blood. Henry had followed, like always, grabbed her by the shoulders, ducked his head so he was looking into her eyes and told her Jimmy had signed a confession and a suicide note before shooting himself outside the church. She'd fought then, remembered thinking that maybe Chloe had had the right idea and she had made a break for the marina.

Either someone would be there, or she could drown. Henry stopped her, somehow. She didn't really remember.

It was funny how long ago it seemed. It felt like it had happened to someone else.

Henry opened the door again, too fast, too violent. He was breathing too hard and his face was flushed. Abby snatched the journal up to her chest. He'd promised he wouldn't take it from her, but she had no doubt that he could do it if he wanted. She met his gaze for the first time in days and mouthed "Please," too uncertain of her voice to speak aloud.

He held his hands up and smiled, apologetic. "Oh no, Abby, no. I'm sorry. I'm not gonna hurt you, not ever again." He came over and knelt before the bed; Abby kept very still. "I had the dream where I listened to him and I killed you. I just had to come see you. Make sure you're ok. And you are." He reached up and rested his hand on her shin. "You're perfect, Abby."

She closed her eyes and shook her head, afraid of what he wanted her to do next. She didn't want to say "No!" again and have him ignore her.

"I don't know what kind of monster you think I am, but I'm not," he said, quiet and gentle. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He left her and her book intact. For some reason, that made her cry.

\--

She woke up with the journal still under her pillow. She was thirsty and her head ached and she needed the bathroom. The water Henry had left her the day before tasted better than it had done but it wasn't enough. She had slept in her clothes again; sleeping in just her underwear and a T-shirt felt too exposed.

She crept down the stairs, hoping not to disturb Henry, but he must have heard her anyway since he was waiting for her in the kitchen.

"Hey, what do you want for breakfast? I've got cereal, and fruit, and that soup you like, and later we could go fishing…"

"Toast'll be fine," she said, without thinking.

\--

When Abby was a little girl, she used to love playing 'Telephone'. She would whisper a message in her Mom's ear and delighted in it returning to her, all mixed up and confused.

\--

"I wish you could live here forever, just the two of us."

\--

The End


End file.
